


Our Breakup in Three Chapters

by LornaMae



Category: DEAN (Korean Musician), Infinite (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-04-04 03:06:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14010816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LornaMae/pseuds/LornaMae
Summary: Kwon Hyuk believes in love at first sight. But rather, it came in the first conversation and ended in three major occcurences.





	1. The Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I dedicated this fic for my wing-woman that has been infused in an unholy obsession towards Kwon Hyuk aka DEAN, whilst I truly believe she should have stick with her eternal bias instead.

 

              Park Aecha never thought that First Class would be this luxurious. Clanking champagne glass and beverage options for whatever your need was. “..is thirst-quenching, a little bit lighter than this one, but gives you a subtle aftertaste kick.” She looked at the stewardess, her smile was glued on, “Or if you just want a relaxing sip, we have original Darjeeling Tea.”

              “Oh—”

              “It’s originally harvested in Darjeeling.” She added proudly.

              “The tea would be really nice. I’ll have the champagne sometimes later.”

She nodded and strode back to the pantry, passing through the aisle gracefully, throwing smiles to all her posh passengers, and there Aecha wondering nervously whether her outfit was proper for First Class and wondered how a long-haul flight friendly outfit for posh people should look like.

              This whole experience only bred a strong suspicion within her, why has her Boss been overly nice? Sending her to London for a business trip that he could have attended on his own? His kindness has become over the top—First Class ticket? Is this his way of redeeming his mean-spirited nature all this time?

              Her thoughts were spiraling in a knot, she was late to realize that it has been forty-five minutes since she boarded the plane, and there had not been any movement from the plane at all. Aecha looked around and saw some of the elderly passengers were complaining. Not too long after an announcement was made.

              They’re still waiting for a late passenger. A commotion of ‘boo’ was heard throughout the aisle, loud enough to represent what she also felt. At the same time, she noticed, the seat next to her, separated by an adjustable partition was the only seat empty around. She felt relieved for awhile thinking that it would be comfortable not to overthink how she’d sound like sleeping through the flight or whether her movements had been disruptive to her neighbor next seat. But then her second thought kicked in, what if the belated passenger ought to sit next to her? Imagining a person rude enough to keep the whole plane waiting for forty-five minutes bred another worry within her.

              _Aecha, you gotta relax. You can’t fret on your First Class seat_ , she thought hopelessly.

              The awaited passenger finally arrived, Aecha reckoned from the faint ‘boo’ of the back alley. Not long after, a bulky _ahjumma_ with flashy fur-coat appeared in the First Class aisle. And she thought, oh this is how posh people act sometimes, while getting ready to rest.

              But the _ahjumma_ wasn’t done being a pain.

              “You’re in my seat,” she said. Some of the passengers stood up to sign their approval of the _ahjumma_ , telling her to get going already. The _ahjumma_ said again, but now even louder, “You’re in my seat!” A uniformed of _aiiiish_ was heard throughout the First Class. Aecha couldn’t see clearly who the _ahjumma_ was talking to, but it was a man trying to reason with her.

              “Stewardess!! He is in my seat!” Now she shrieked to the disbelief of other passengers. The stewardess was quick to check that it was indeed her seat, and apologetically bowed to the passenger, “Sorry Sir, but your seat is over there.” And she pointed at the empty seat next to Aecha.

              In an odd sheer of panic she threw her stare away, from the man as he stood up. She did not want to look as if she was anticipating, or drawn in public drama. It wasn’t something necessary, it was just her antics to overthink how strangers would decipher her gestures.

              Right in the moment, her phone started to ring. She must have had forgotten to turn the thing off. Hastily she picked up the phone without even looking at the caller’s ID, “ _Yeoboseyo?”_

              “You’re not boarded yet?” A familiar voice asked. Even whilst on the line she could sense an immense worry in her caller’s voice.

              “We got delayed.” She hushed herself in, “Now we’re about to go. Don’t worry.”

              “Ah, thank god,” A sigh of relief, “Come home soon.”

              “See you in 12 hours. Bye—”

              “I miss—” _Clicked._

“Oh shit.” She mutters, in another wave of panic realizing that she had just hung up on her boyfriend. She was ready to be engulfed in guilt, hurriedly texting him:

 

**[Park Aecha]: _I miss you too. Sorry. We’re going to take off soon._**

**[Kim Myungsoo] [R ↙]: _It’s OK. Take care!_**

 

              _Park Aecha, you need to panic less._ She was trying to do a split-second cooling down, taking a deep breathe before realizing the plane was starting to move. The overhead compartment beside her was shut off, and the man that was previously ushered by the bulky _ahjumma_ was lightly tidying his seat next to hear.

              For the record, Park Aecha is a very self-aware person. She calculated each of her gesture and expression. She worrid lots of time how people would think of her as. But in that moment, to her own disbelief, she lost her prized self-awareness. She was frozen in place and threw her face away from the man. Trying to compose herself, but mostly, trying to save herself from further embarrassment.

              “Hello,” the man said. She tried her best to disguise what she thought was a light panic attack, by smiling back to the man, “I’m sorry for the ruckus previously.” He rubbed the back of his clean-shaven head, chuckling lightly. Strapping his belts as the plane headed for the runway.

              “It’s fine,” she replied, “Enjoy the flight.”

              “Thank you,” he chuckled again, “I was actually ready for everyone to be pissed at me.”

              Aecha couldn’t help not to giggle, as her composure was about to melt down with the following statement, “Don’t mind it. By the way..” she gave herself a pause trying to find hesitation, but oddly there was none, “I listen to your music. They’re really great.”

              His eyes were lit in an instant, and he threw a childish grin that threw Aecha’s heartbeat to what felt like a sudden drop, “Thank you,” He said, biting his lower lip in what she believed his unique way to keep his composure while being flattered, “Very much.”

              “Likewise,” It was perhaps her first star-struck during her 20s as she could not recall feeling like this since she was still in her teenage years, “Dean-ssi.”

 

 

                             


	2. The Prologue II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DEAN is now a household name in Korean entertainment industry. But he'd still feel inherently lonely even with crowds cheering for his name.

There were a lot of things that Kwon Hyuk can figure out about her from her mere gestures: the slight wry in the end of her polite smile, and the second-guessing pause in her questions.

It has been weeks full of work for him, and though abundant of new friends he had made in London, he’d still feel a need to have a light and relaxing conversation with a stranger sitting next to him in his First Class seat back home. So when he sensed that she was ready to end the brief conversation out of politeness, Kwon Hyuk initiated another talk, “I am in the process of making new album. Thank you for the support.” He said as the plane took off, strapping the passengers’ back to the embroidered linen cover of the seat.

At first Kwon Hyuk thought she did not hear him due to the roaring engine, but after the plane settled at constant height she answered, “I know,” there was a childish hue of pink blossoming on her cheeks, “I follow you on Instagram.”

She chuckled, Kwon Hyuk did as well.

During the flight Kwon Hyuk had asked whether she was into R ‘n B or Hip Hop in general. She said she listened to all kinds of music, “Especially good ones,” she said. And somehow that flattered Kwon Hyuk, even though he had heard that numerous time in his short span of career. She went on saying that perhaps her favorite genre would sound peculiar to Kwon Hyuk, to which he shrugged, “Trust me. I listen to even odder tunes.” That was true, though, sometimes whenever he felt restless, he’d play on an old cassette with African shaman chant in it. He’d feel relieve most of the times, but that could also be because of the weed keeping him company.

“I listen to 80s disco songs.” She said, with an obvious embarrassment painted on her moon-shaped face. He chuckled, deliberately enjoying another hue of pink on her cheeks. “Can you recommend me one song?” She looked flabbergasted for a moment, trying to sort her brain out, “Just anything you have on your phone.”

“Oh I don’t have any on my phone,” she pulled out the adjustable screen from the left side of his seat and clicking through series of in-flight entertainment, “But I think they might have it here.”

“You’re a regular in the First Class? You seem to know their song selections well.” Kwon Hyuk asked, trying to get a glimpse of who she might be. Still dabbling on the screen, she shook her head, “Not important enough to be a regular. Just by a chance. I read their selections from the in-flight entertainment catalogue I found in the lounge.” She ended her explanation with a short cackle, but it sounded painfully self-deprecating.

“Here.” She tilted the screen so Kwon Hyuk could see the title, _Culture Club_ , the band's name was. Kwon Hyuk reached for the headphone slipped in the seat pocket and plugged it in. Her sound was muffled by the unique tunes of the band, but he read her lips saying, “Do you like it?” To which Kwon Hyuk nodded to it.

Their conversation ended at the third hours of the flight, it seemed both of them were finally realizing how worn off they were, and so with a slight hesitation from both ends, they rolled up the partition and went off to their slumber. When the plane landed eight hours later, they both bowed at each other and parted their own ways.

Off the plane she walked really fast ahead of him seemingly cannot wait to meet someone. Kwon Hyuk turned on his phone, with a bunch of messages and social media notification stormed on to him, seeping through him like a daily suffocation. Amidst so many _I LOVE YOU_ ’s he’d received on social media, he could still feel that he was inherently alone. Even with all the awards and compliments he’d been getting, it was strange how a simple and awkward conversation about music with stranger he’d met on the airplane felt the most nourishing.

On his way out, a horde of young women ran to him and he was quickly ushered by his manager to the SUV waiting for him on the pick-up lane. He bowed and thanked all his fans, saying that he wished he could take photos with them but he needed to be somewhere else soon. He was lying, as always. Most of the times all the crowd was just too overwhelming for him.

As he was getting in the car, his eyes spotted the woman she’d talked to in the airplane. Queuing for taxi, holding hands with a tall man draped in all black from head to toe. While Kwon Hyuk was looking from his darkened car window at them, the man landed a kiss on top of her head, and Kwon Hyuk found himself looking away.

He felt even emptier than before, and he did not know why. Perhaps it was because he was late to realize that he couldn’t even remember her name.


	3. The Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Park Aecha realizes that DEAN and her are worlds apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers,  
> Thank you for your love! I took quite some times writing this chapter, because to be honest, the objective of this fic was not to please our longing for superficial imagination. Instead, I wanted you to feel this story, and somehow, humanize the characters as well. Hopefully it will be delivered well. I would love to hear from you, whether you like it or not. Sorry if it's too long!
> 
> Love,  
> L-M

**_Spring, 201x_ **

“Sorry I can’t stay, my son’s been crying,” She checked on her phone with an obvious concern drawn on her face. Park Aecha tried to pull an honest it-is-ok smile at her colleague, but she supposed it was still emblazoned all over her face that she was reluctant to remain at the office in this hour all by herself.

              “Aecha-ya, you know what? Really, you can go home.” She threw a stare at the clock on her desktop, “It’s going to be midnight soon.”

              Park Aecha muttered under her breathe, _I know_ , but her works were nowhere near being finished. The issue wasn’t her work ethics or her time management, it was because _it kept coming_. During her first year working there, she was determined to leave the place after her first 6 months probation contract came to an end. But they kept offering her better remuneration that to refuse felt like too much of a risk, and the next thing she realized, it had been four years.

              “Ah, why don’t you ask your boyfriend to pick up you up?”

              “Well—”

              “Oh—” She seemed to realize the sour simper on Aecha’s face, putting her to a swift realization, “—sorry. I didn’t know.”

              “It’s okay, unnie.”

              “Didn’t he work in Samsung?”

              “Well—” Park Aecha wasn’t in any way feeling the necessity of bringing Kim Myungsoo in this conversation. But she did not want to be so brazen at this hour, her fear of being impolite was bigger than her fear of being not reminded over her recent break-up. And she hated herself for being too non-confrontational for her own good, so she bared listening to her co-worker’s personal take on how bonafide Samsung employees were, and indirectly saying, _stupid you for letting him go._

Her Mum said the same thing when Park Aecha first found courage to tell her the truth, _‘Myungsoo and I have broken up’_. It was clear that she was not entirely amused, she enjoyed the sense of security having her daughter being in a long-term and serious relationship with a Samsung engineer with promising career, but after awhile her Mum would console her with what felt like a years-old unspoken concern, _‘He’s too quiet_ anyway’. Park Aecha held on to that unfavorable trait of Kim Myungsoo as her way of rationalizing her break-up, inflating that make-believe cause. _He’s too quiet, there was no fun with him._

But late at night the fond memories would trump over, and she’d find herself crying to sleep.

She often wondered why it was still hard for her to accept his departure, as it had been almost four months since the break-up. Her friends told her that it was her coping mechanism, to escape from every chance of talkig about him in order to eventually forget him. But surely it took hell long of a time for this mechanism to work on her.

“Unnie,” Park Aecha dared herself to cut her off, glaring at her vibrating phone, “I think home is calling.”

“Oh. You’re right. Sorry. I’m going now.”

              She thought the most painful thing following a break-up would be all the intrusive thoughts of ‘what-if’ that had haunted her in the early post-breakup days, but rather it was the immense feeling of emptiness and the unbearable change of routine that came afterward.

No more morning pick-up’s, or simply listening to the deep muffled sound of Myungsoo’s soundly sleep. After that realization kicked in, there was also the second thing she did not expect: _boredom_. Life proceeded on monotonal pace, and once again the world fell on her plain self alone. There was no longer silly complaints for his obsessiveness towards checkered shirts, fedora or grey sweatshirts. Park Aecha began to realize that what made her interesting was his life with his ex-boyfriend, and now she yearned for whatever little surprises the world had to offer.

              As soon as her colleague exited the room, Park Aecha sighed, as loud as she could and with that she felt a tremendous chill of emptiness running down her spine. It was only natural for her to break down at this moment, but instead she opened the live streaming channel on the internet.

She thought comedy skit would uplift her mood, but the crowd noises brushing against the complete silence of her empty office felt like an ironic mock, so she dotted on the recorded episode of Yu Huiyeol’s Sketchbook that aired just a few hours ago. And a familiar face appeared.

It was Dean, sitting across the legendary musician as he made a casual joke with the audience. Dean tilted his head down, giggling to himself, rubbing the back of his head that was no longer clean-shaven. Apparently, he had grown his hair long, and he looked thinner as well. But his gesture – still the same way he was on that coincidental moment, where Park Aecha had met him during a dull long-haul flight from London to Incheon.

It’s been two years. She had stopped listening to him, and she wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was because listening to him after that encounter felt – _in the mildest sense_ — odd, and in a more obvious way, upsetting. After the flight, she’d wished she wasn’t so much of an awkward person, so she could muster some courage to say, _can I take a photo with you?_ She’d wished she didn’t just rush out of the plane in an embarrassing fluster. But more than all those, it was upsetting to think that probably she wouldn’t be able to be as close as that to him again. There is an immense sense of disappointment in understanding that two people could casually converse at a random given moment, when actually they are two worlds apart.

But then Aecha kept on watching. Apparently, he just released an extended play from his last album. They were discussing one particular song. Yu Huiyeol seemed to be very interested with this song, “This song reminds me of the good old times with an impeccable modern touch!” He said. And Aecha thought, _that is very flattering._

Dean smiled, and he looked upward, as if he was composing some answers.

“Where did you get the inspiration for the song?”

“Some of the tunes were experimental. This song was actually made about two years ago—”

“—what? This is so good! Why only release it now?”

“Well—” he smiled, but he looked wary, “—the previous album was a collaboration with Zico. He went through some horrible relationship issues, and we ended up making lots of songs about heartbreak, and it became the theme of the album. And I guess this song, would be unfitting, because it’s just so happy.”

“Exactly! I get so excited every time I listen to it!”

“About the inspiration, uhm..” she rubbed the back of his head again, and Aecha swore she spotted a little giggle from him, “when I wrote this, I just went back from London, and I had been listening to Culture Club.”

“I met someone and she had recommended me listening to 80s disco anthem.”

Yu Huiyeol laughed along with the audience.

 

***

**_Autumn, 201x_ **

Aecha left before the concert ended. The hall was packed with teenage girls, screaming _oppa!_ And tons of other endearing terms. It was an intimate show, explaining why the ticket was so damn expensive. She’d been seated at the front seat of the balcony where she could see him clearly.

He was captivating, as he had always been. Halfway through the show, a teenage girl threw a pink polkadot bra to the stage, and it ended getting hung on his microphone stand.

Aecha thought, _what a life he’s living._ And it made her think about her own life.

Before he reached the encore, Aecha had decided to leave, and now here she was. At a quiet bus station few blocks away from the hall. She presumed the show would be over by now.

She wasn’t so sure why did she come to the concert. The ‘disco-inspired song’ wasn’t even in the setlist. She just felt so lonesome, and she thought seeing him in action would aide her some merry, but instead it presented her with a bitter truth: they were indeed worlds apart.

So she wept, quietly in the starless Autumn nights.

 

***

**_Spring, 201x_ **

              She kept coming. It became even comical for her to do so. Her best friend asked, _is this how you cope with your break-up?_ _It’s been a year!_ Park Aecha would laughed, and said nothing, because it sounded funny to her for no particular reason. Perhaps because it was true.

              Apparently, Dean had a devoted older fanbase. They might be less wild than his younger fans, but they were loyal. Aecha had started hanging with them in each of the intimate gig she went to. They exchanged numbers, talked briefly about how awesome the gig and Dean was, and they’d only start talking again if another gig was scheduled.

              On that one particular gig, Aecha stayed until the encore ended. The older fans were rushing home because they did not want to get stuck amidst the commotion of Dean’s teenage groupies. Aecha stayed at her seat even until the staffs were starting to move the instruments off the stage. After awhile, she walked to the bus station.

              That night was different than usual. Dean finally played the ‘disco-inspired song’, and she had just received an invitation. In fact, it was a wedding invitation, sent through a sophisticated digitally decorated e-mail. The invitation said, _cordially invites you to the holy matrimony of Kim Myungsoo_ , and a name of a girl she never heard before.

              She did not know what to feel, but the quiet bus station felt too quiet for its own good.

              She knew that the last bus to her neighborhood had left an hour ago, and the thought that nobody would come near, gave her a sense of liberty, to let the first tear to fall alongside the first drop of Spring rain.

              Until she heard a footstep approaching. So she opened up her umbrella, wiping the trail of her tears with the back of her hand, getting ready to leave. But then something stopped her.

              “Miss?” A hum of a voice that would stop her over and over again, “There you are again.”

              It was a momentary shock, almost blissful, even. It took awhile for her to find her composure, as she realized warm chills rushing over her chest. And so she spoke,  “Dean-ssi,”  As the rain started to drench on them, she asked, “How have you been?”

 

             

             

             


	4. One: Instagram

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kwon Hyuk turned down an offer from major global recording studio and her muse became real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for everyone who've spared time to leave kudos and comments, honestly I wrote this off after your comments. Nothing is of a bigger stimulation than knowing that somebody had enjoyed the story you made. This one is longer than usual, but I still hope you'd enjoy it. Thank you and have a greta month of May!

****

              “What now again?” It was obvious that Jiho was pissed, he didn’t budge when Kwon Hyuk tried to retort, Jiho persisted on asking the same question, “What now?” Because it was crystal clear that Kwon Hyuk was lying about something.

              “I just—I am sorry” Kwon Hyuk found himself cornered, so he let his words hung unfinished to Jiho’s satisfaction, “You can’t even explain yourself, man. What should I tell them now?”

              “You can go without me.”

              “That’s out of the question.”

              “You’re the producer—”

              “Hyukie,” Jiho’s tone dropped down as he tried to compose a sensible persuasion for Kwon Hyuk, but he’d already known him for years. He might be quite but once he sets his mind, it sets in stone, “Jesus!”

              The sound of the wooden stool he kicked against the wall was a clear display how much pissed Jiho was. Kwon Hyuk was surprised to see him reacted that way, not to mention how much he prized the stool – as he made it himself some years ago.

“You think about it.”

“I will.”

“Think. The fuck. Through.”

 

A call from New York woke Woo Jiho one early morning. He was taken aback for a split second when his manager spoke from over the line, “Jiho-ya, call Hyukie, we’ve got something to talk about. His manager and his agency’s rep too.” It was only the next evening they had been able to gather after Kwon Hyuk finished his gig. They planned to meet at a nearby barbeque restaurant where they usually go for supper. The place was a nice establishment with few private rooms that the team had rented over time, whether it was to shoot Tipsy Live with his Block B members or just to hang around.

“Right after you finish. Yeah, 10 PM? OK. Cool. Don’t be late.” Jiho remember saying that clearly to Kwon Hyuk over the phone. He wanted to set the mood as serious as possible. Over the years Jiho had learned that it was ridiculously easy for his musician friends to turn what supposed to be a business meeting into a jamming session or series of drinking game. He had always been strict about his objective, but particularly the objective of _this_ meeting. So when Kwon Hyuk arrived almost an hour later than planned, he was a little more than just pissed.

“Where were you?” Asked Jiho as Kwon Hyuk took a seat next to him. He had bowed apologetically to the managers and the agency reps, but he had taken Jiho too lightly, “I had something to manage.”

“Your manager said you took off right after the encore.” Kwon Hyuk nodded, opening the menu book unenthusiastically, “What is this thing, so important that you had to go in the middle of this weather?” Jiho leered at the crackling window, the thunderstorm was still roaring. Kwon Hyuk had arrived with his overcoat that is now hung beside the sliding door, damp with droplets of water still apparent on the sides of its nylon. His umbrella was soaking wet, Jiho even heard on Kwon Hyuk’s way in the waitress had told him to use the plastic cover as to prevent the water splattered all over the wooden floor.

“You didn’t even take your car. Were you walking down the street?”

“Jiho, you’re not my mom.” Kwon Hyuk muttered under his breathe, without even paying him a glance. He didn’t give Jiho the satisfaction of attention, as he began to greet all the men in the room, “Thank you for everyone who has come. Our managers, our agencies’ representatives...”

As Kwon Hyuk proceeded with his greeting, Jiho finally realized that there was indeed no excitement Kwon Hyuk had felt towards this offer. Previously over the phone when Jiho told him that the Atlantic Records was interested to offer the two of them a record deal, Kwon Hyuk’s only response was, _I’ll think about it_ , whilst Jiho was over the roof with giddiness. He himself even felt ridiculed by his own excitement.

_They think we both got the potential to expand to American market_ , said Jiho the other day on the telephone. An inaudible mumble was the only answer from Kwon Hyuk, so Jiho had to repeat just to make sure that his duet partner for the past year kept up with what’s on their hands, _Yo Hyukie, this is Atlantic!_

But then again, his response was bare. So when Kwon Hyuk came over to his apartment couple of days after the meeting, Jiho knew already that it was something he wouldn’t like to hear. When he said that he wasn’t feeling well enough to travel to New York to meet with the Atlantic people, Jiho knew he was lying, or at the very least, he was fabricating parts of his excuse.

“Have you checked with a doctor?” There was tint of concern that Jiho felt towards Kwon Hyuk, but it was quickly shunned by the man as he averted the topic.

“Can we reschedule to sometimes next month?” Kwon Hyuk asked, trying to disguise weariness in his composure by leaning lazily to the couch, and his eyes latched on his cellphone. Amongst the two of them, Jiho’s manager was also present. He was silent all through the night, but alike to Jiho, he had keen eye on gestures and without having to discuss about it, they’d known there was something Kwon Hyuk was hiding.

“They’re not like some chicks you could call any time and they’d bend over right away upon your request.” Jiho said to Kwon Hyuk’s dismay, as he lifted his eyes off the phone screen and now his cold leer landed on Jiho.

Jiho knew his cynicism previously does not sit well with Kwon Hyuk as he was a person that always thrived to be seen as dependable and professional. Kwon Hyuk had his fair share of ordeal trying to set off from his flower boy look and be taken seriously in the music industry for his talent alone. _Hell_ , he even went extra miles, purportedly dying his hair with the most horrendous blotched blonde few years ago just to make himself looked as distasteful as possible. And Jiho’s cynical jeer previously had obviously brushed Kwon Hyuk’s pride.

But as he knew him to be one of the most dependable friends he had ever encountered, Kwon Hyuk’s attitude towards this matter feels the least like him.

They were both silent for a moment, staring into each other’s eyes as rage budding within the two of them, until Kwon Hyuk sighed heavily, as if he was trying to prevent himself from running his mouth with curses.

“Whatever. I’m leaving.”

As he took off, there was a lingering feeling of guilt within Jiho. There could be a possibility that he was indeed in some illness of some sort, but it was hard to stay concerned when his own ambition is threatened by the action of others.

So he sighed and shambled his way to the kitchen. As he passed through his manager, he muttered, “Hyung, how?”

“It’s okay, Jiho, I’ll find out what the fuck is happening with that son of a bitch.”

His manager was apparently more pissed off than Jiho was.

 

***

             

              Park Aecha had thought about it all week long. On her morning coffee, amidst the deadlines she had tried to meet, on her commute home from work, during a cold shower at midnight. Every minute, everywhere she had gone, she tried to consolidate all her conflicting thoughts, and it had brought her to a profound desperation – as she realized she had not been able to gain an action plan to go by.

              _What’s the worse that could happen?_ A part of her was ready to leap into whatever the consequence was, but her common sense had said: _Wait!_ And so she waited by the hope that after few days she would come to her senses and figure out herself what would be the best decision. 

But few days passed by and now it’s been few weeks and she was certain that the entire status quo had been aggravated by her neglect.

              She had been staring at her fridge all night long. Not exactly at the fridge, but at a crumpled piece of paper that she had tried to salvage, and now it’s pinned to the fridge by a decorative magnet from Jeju-do.

              In that paper there was a phone number scrawled hastily. The ink had smudged, as it was handed to her under a thunderous rain. She had contemplated to discard the paper once and for all, then forget that it ever happened. Continue her life and live a lifetime of regret for declining highroads to a daydream realized. But like many nights before, she couldn’t decide. So she took a stride to her bedroom and wonder how could she sleep throughout the night with anxiety bulging in her throat.

              She woke up feeling exhausted as per usual. She force-fed herself with an oatmeal that she desperately tried to make more tasteful by adding raw honey her mother sent her couple of months ago. But it still felt plain as the only thing she could taste was the bitter anxiety latching on her chest, cultivated by another sight of the paper on the fridge. She wasn’t thinking when she walked to the fridge, slid the paper off the magnet, and crumpled it in one hand before throwing it thoughtlessly to the paper bin.

              She felt relieved, for awhile. But that blissful calmness did not last long. She arrived at her office forty-five minutes late. She’d like to say that it wasn’t her fault as there was huge demonstration outside the City Hall, but after hearing her excuse his Boss went on, “I know it’s not exactly your fault,” he said egregiously calm to the point where she knew such calmness was a fabrication as he was about to spill some venoms right after, “but it has been anticipated by the news since a week ago. I guess you could have taken alternative routes—”

              “—but I—”

              Her Boss raised his finger, with his sickening authoritarian demeanor in telling her to shut up, “but I guess you’re not the type of girl who reads the news, huh?”

              His statement latched on to her the entire day. She felt nauseous as her pride had been compromised by generalizing her into _that-type-of-girl_. As if her entire contribution to the company for the past four years had been trivialized to a single stereotype. She felt exhausted, as more workload kept on coming and to make it worse, sometimes during lunch her co-worker nudged her, “Do you know that they’re gonna make us work this Sunday too? There’s going to be an audit from the ministry next Monday. So frustrating. It’s not even our problem and you know what’s worse…” Her co-worker kept on chattering, but her words faded away as Park Aecha began to feel the knot on her stomach getting bigger. She sloppily finished her drink and took away her tray without a single word to her co-worker. She headed back to her cubicle but as she passed through the lavatory she couldn’t help it.

              That afternoon she crumbled to pieces, she vomited and ended up crying in the bathroom stall. All done in the wisdom of silence.

              Her commute home was as silent. It was remedied faintly when she phoned her close friend. But what came up on the conversation was more of an anger instead of what she had been truly feeling lately, which was exhaustion. So when they both hung up, she still felt as overwhelmed as before.

              When she got home, she took a hot shower – perhaps it was too hot that her skin dried up to leave shallow patches on her back. She took aid with aloe vera gel, put on her night skin care routine, turn on to some comedy skits, and scrolled through her phone, trying to ignore the twitching pain in her chest. She had drunk glasses and glasses of water, trying to think that the suffocation she felt was perhaps due to dehydration, even though deep down she understood that it was all her being denial.

              Out of nowhere, she thought of opening her long-forgotten Instagram account. She had deleted the application from her phone, because mundane selfies of her college friends in her timeline had annoyed the shit out of her. She patiently downloaded the app for awhile, logged on to it, scoffed when she saw that her college friends still posed with the same selfie angle and was a little bit surprised knowing that a guy he had known in high school was now living abroad.

              She kept on scrolling until one image stopped her. It was a monochromatic image, taken with what seemed like a vintage analog camera. There was a tuxedo, and next to it a beautiful and lavish white lacey gown – both neatly hung in front of a body-sized mirror. Park Aecha could see the photographer from the reflection of the mirror. Next to her was a beautiful girl, tall and slender, with long wavy hair fell graciously on her chest. The traditional beauty that radiates homely warmth. All the things Park Aecha could never be. Underneath the photo, written in the caption: “ _Roads to forever with you”_

The words sounded painfully familiar, and Aecha’s mind quickly registered. In what felt like a lifetime ago, Kim Myungsoo had said the same thing to her, _“Even if there are millions of roads, I’d take one that lead me to forever with you.”_ Aecha remembered that she laughed it off as the word came out of nowhere and they were laying lazily on Myungsoo’s coach one Sunday afternoon, and she asked why. And he answered, _“Because you are home.”_

_But I guess that home had decayed long time ago._

              In split moment the anxiety, fear, and loneliness budded into a huge knot, that grew into an immense suffocation. Smothering her as she ran to the bathroom and threw all her sadness away. She vomited and cried, while her mouth was gasping for air, wishing an embrace would lift her off of her feet and hold her tight, mending all her broken pieces together.

              In her own kind of desperation, she shambled to the kitchen, sobbing uncontrollably as she ravaged through the paper bin, and desperately looked for that one piece of paper she had thrown away earlier this morning.

              And finally, she dialed.

***

              “I’ve been good.” Kwon Hyuk said, but the thunder was rumbling so he ought to say it louder, “I’ve been good!”

              Even under the swirling rain, he could see that she was smiling. And though unheard, he could see that she was muttering, ‘ _Good.’_

              “We can’t talk like this,” She said, extending her palms outside the shelter of her umbrella, letting the droplets of rain wet her hands.

              “I know, I wish we’d just—”

“Was it me?” She asked, almost screaming as another thunder roared in distance. She repeated once again when Kwon Hyuk furrowed his brows in confusion, “Was it me the person you talked about in Yu Huiyeol’s? Did you start listening to Culture Club after my recommendation?”

              Kwon Hyuk couldn’t hide his laughter. He was a little bit surprised of her brazen question. To him, he was courage personified. He did not have anything to say, so he nodded, and the widest grin blossomed on the girl’s face. As if she had not been that happy lately.

              “Miss, I never got to know your name. I wanted to thank you.”

              “Oh!” And she laughed, even though he could sense it was oddly forced, “It’s Park Aecha. That’s.. my name.”

              “It’s nice to meet you, I’m—”

              “—Dean-ssi.” She said, unintentionally cutting him off as she strode a distance closer to him. But he shook his head.

              “It’s Kwon Hyuk. And I want to know about you more.”

***

              “Are you sure you’re gonna be okay all alone?” His manager asked once again as he slipped her foot into his shoes, getting ready to leave. Kwon Hyuk nodded lightly across the room, aware of his manager’s concern.

              “Just FYI, Jiho’s manager has been ringing me like crazy after you turned down the offer.”

              “I know.” His manager noticed that there was a huge disappointment in Kwon Hyuk’s answer, but he wasn’t sure to whom he was disappointed with. Knowing him for many years already, he’d assumed that the one person Kwon Hyuk was disappointed with was himself. As his manager, it frustrated him that he couldn’t do much about it. Kwon Hyuk blamed himself too much.

              “Don’t you think it’s better if we sit them down and tell them the truth?”

              “I need to get myself fixed up first.”

              “That’s gonna take some times.”

              “Let it be.”

              “Years, even in some cases.” It was the bitter truth which Kwon Hyuk had acknowledged for quite sometimes already. He was determined that he could be better, although his progress lately did not seem to agree with his determination, “Not that I want you to be one of those cases.”

              “I’ll work hard to get better, Hyung.”

              “Great,” the manager sighed as he opened the front door to Kwon Hyuk’s apartment, “Don’t forget to take the medication—and not in any way abusing it. Also, get rid of all those shits.” Kwon Hyuk chuckled at his order, pointing at the wooden shelf of his liquors.

              “It makes you think too much.”

              “Agree.”

              After the door clicked locking, Kwon Hyuk stayed on the coach for almost an hour. It was strange, because back in the days he wouldn’t be able to waste an hour not doing anything. He would be irritated and started scribbling some lyrics on his notepad. Nowadays, he rarely blasting on music from his stereo, he would only go to his studio room once in a while, jamming some of his songs or composing recreational tunes that he’d save up later to finish.

              These days had been different. Each moment passed where there was complete silence in his head, was the moment he most treasured. He’d often look at the faint scar on his wrist in agony, only to feel slightly calm afterward knowing that it was disappearing day after day.

              He tried not to think about Jiho, and the record deal. His Mom’s words echo in his head each time a commotion of regret and self-blame stormed him, she said, _‘I’m sorry that I raised you wrong. You’ve always been selfless, but now, you have every right to be selfish.’_ And he tried to live by those words, even if only for a while.

              He tried so hard not to think about anything, but the thought of the girl kept on returning to him. She was always there, the B-row on the right side of the balcony. She’d always left early, often leaving out the last song. Which was a pity, because Kwon Hyuk drew inspiration from her for the song. They called it ‘the disco song’.

He’d imagined her as a wholesome girl. He had oddly cherished her sheer awkwardness during the flight, and when he saw that tender kiss his boyfriend landed on top of her head that day, he thought, _what a life she was living._  She must be a happy person.

              Kwon Hyuk was secretly jealous _of_ her –or maybe _for_ her. He did not know why. But it grew to the extent that he had lobbied his management to keep the intimate gig as a regular show, and to be held at the same venue every time. There were many practical reasons for it, but all he hoped was so he could spot her in every performance. And luckily, he always did.

              So when she did not return the call after he had managed to catch her after the show, Kwon Hyuk felt a stinging disappointment. And he never told anyone about her, it was as if she was an imaginary character that lingered in his head way too often.

              At 2 AM in that starless night, his phone rung, and a bare number with no name called in. It could have been anyone. Fans, shrieking at the end of the line realizing they’ve hit the correct number, or just some girls he had just flirted with at a mutual friends’ party. It could have been any one, so when he picked up on the first ring, he’d stayed silent. He wanted to know who was over the line.

              “ _Yeoboseyo?”_

“Is this you?”

              There was a thick silence afterwards, before Kwon Hyuk said, “It’s me.” A muffled sound was heard over the line, and he could hear her sobbing in a distance.

              “Kwon Hyuk-ssi, you know what?”

              Another silence ensued as Kwon Hyuk tried to guess what she was about to say.

              “I hate Instagram so much.”

              And in all of a sudden, she was no longer an imaginary character. She became real.


End file.
